


Word and Deed

by sunspeared



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: A Large Hat, An Official-Looking Piece of Paper, Confidence, F/F, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunspeared/pseuds/sunspeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela and Merrill steal a boat. There is no way this could possibly go wrong. (For once, it doesn't.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Word and Deed

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: "Admiral Isabela, first mate Merrill, swashes, buckles, blood magic and murder on the high seas." It turned out... not quite that.

"It’s about confidence," Isabela says, walking up the gangplank. "Ferelden sailors are dumber than poles, and these ones are greener than your pretty eyes. There’s no way this can go wrong."

 _I have a surprise for you, kitten!_ she’d said, dragging Merrill from the warmth of her bed in the wee hours of the morning. _We’re going on an adventure._ There are only two kinds of adventure, with Isabela: crime, and sex. Isabela had still been wearing clothes when she said it, so it wasn’t sex. Most likely. Yet.

The hat—the _Hat_ —for today’s crime has a brim as wide as Isabela’s shoulders. Her cape is lined with ermine, and she’s brought out the pearl-handled daggers, and enough gold jewelry to sink a dreadnought, probably. Merrill is wearing her very best chainmail, and her cleanest leathers. "Are we the merchant prince and the seneschal," she thinks to ask, before they make it all the way up, "or are we the pirate captain and the apostate? Not that we’re not—already the second one. You know what I mean." 

"Pirate and apostate," Isabela says, and rings the watch bell, startling the sleepy sailors on the deck. "My name is Admiral Isabela," she announces, at the top of her lungs, "and I’m the new owner of this rotting shitpile. Maker’s breath, but I’ve eaten off plates at the Hanged Man cleaner than this deck." 

The sailors gape. Maybe they really are dumber than poles. "We ain’t heard nothing about a new owner," one of them says, at last.

Merrill flashes them the scroll she’s been holding, with the word _DEED_ written on it, in large red letters. She made it herself. There are flourishes. Confidence, a large hat, and an official-looking piece of paper: the three main ingredients of a good scam. "I won you all in a card game last night," Isabela says. "You’re the newest additions to my fleet. This," she adds, "is my first mate, Merrill. You may know her as the Dread Wolf of Vyrantium, if you haven’t been living under a rock. She doesn’t speak a damned word of the King’s Tongue, but she’ll be keeping an eye on your discipline."

Vyrantium! She’s to be Tevinter, this time. She makes for a dreadful seneschal—it must be her vallaslin, because humans never believe the act—but she does quite a good Tevinter. It’s Fenris’s wonderful example, and his broad vocabulary. She’s been studying him. "Venhedis," Merrill says, with her very best scowl, and makes a little ball of lightning in her left hand, sets it to rotate on the tip of her index finger. "Fasta vass?" 

"That’s right, sweet thing. Any of them looks you in the eye, you let them have it."

"Kaffas," Merrill says, and extinguishes the lightning. 

And then they’re out in the harbor, watching the sunrise from the quarterdeck. Merrill has the helm; Isabela’s hands cover hers, showing her how to steer. Doing most of the work, really. Merrill doesn’t mind. "I told you I’d take you sailing, didn’t I?" Isabela says, resting her chin on top of Merrill’s head. 

"We should keep it," Merrill blurts out. "Just—keep going. To Llomerryn, or wherever we want." Away from the alienage, away from her clan, still encamped on Sundermount, away from Isabela’s dirty little room in the Hanged Man, away from the templars, with their pockets full of Varric’s coin, giving her dirty looks when they pass her in the street.

"Maker, no, the captain will be waking up any minute now, and these really are dreadful sailors. Look at these sails," Isabela says, "look at that rigging, it’s a disgrace. You deserve so much better. However, the captain’s cabin is dripping with silks, which tells you exactly where all his money has gone—not to hiring good crew, that’s for sure. I think that should be the next stop on our inspection, don’t you?" 

"I do like exploring below decks!" Merrill says, and she has been thinking of that one _all morning_. It startles a laugh out of Isabela—she has that, at least. _You deserve so much better, too,_ Merrill thinks, and follows her into the belly of the ship. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Opportunities Insufficiently Guarded](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847708) by [skogr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skogr/pseuds/skogr)




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